nent's leg so that he brought him down. The man was immensely
agile, for he was up in a second and something hot and bright blew into
Dickson's face. The pistol bullet had passed through the collar of his
faithful waterproof, slightly singeing his neck. But it served its
purpose, for Dickson paused, gasping, to consider where he had been
hit, and before he could resume the chase the last boat had pushed off
into deep water.

To be shot at from close quarters is always irritating, and the novelty
of the experience increased Dickson's natural wrath. He fumed on the
shore like a deerhound when the stag has taken to the sea. So hot was
his blood that he would have cheerfully assaulted the whole crew had
they been within his reach. Napoleon, who had been incapacitated for
speed by having his stomach and bare shanks savagely trampled upon,
joined him, and together they watched the bobbing black specks as they
crawled out of the estuary into the grey spindrift which marked the
harbour mouth.

But as he looked the wrath died out of Dickson's soul. For he saw that
the boats had indeed sailed on a desperate venture, and that a pursuer
was on their track more potent than his breathless middle-age. The tide
was on the ebb, and the gale was driving the Atlantic breakers
shoreward, and in the jaws of the entrance the two waters met in an
unearthly turmoil. Above the noise of the wind came the roar of the
flooded Garple and the fret of the harbour, and far beyond all the
crashing thunder of the conflict at the harbour mouth. Even in the
darkness, against the still faintly grey western sky, the spume could
be seen rising like waterspouts. But it was the ear rather than the
eye which made certain presage of disaster. No boat could face the
challenge of that loud portal.

As Dickson struggled against the wind and stared, his heart melted and
a great awe fell upon him. He may have wept; it is certain that he
prayed. "Poor souls, poor souls!" he repeated. "I doubt the last hour
has been a poor preparation for eternity."

The tide the next day brought the dead ashore. Among them was a young
man, different in dress and appearance from the rest--a young man with
a noble head and a finely-cut classic face, which was not marred like
the others from pounding among the Garple rocks. His dark hair was
washed back from his brow, and the mouth, which had been hard in life,
was now relaxed in the strange innocence of death.

Di